This morning thirteen children were baptized at church.  It was a joy to watch as the parents read a verse and said a prayer for their little one.  It was not like back in the day when I was baptized…

 

My neighbor Vicki and I were the only ones who had not yet been baptized when we went through the communicant’s class at the neighborhood Presbyterian Church.  So she and I became members at the early service, and all the other kids joined at the later service.

The only thing I remember about the service is the envelope they gave each of us at the conclusion of the ceremony. Big, white, official looking, with my name printed in calligraphy. Actually, I don’t remember the envelope, but I remember how the envelope got us into trouble.

The baptism was at the beginning of the service and then the sermon started.  Vicki and I sat by ourselves over on the side of the sanctuary.   Our moms were at the other end of the row.  The church was fairly empty, being the early service and all.

We listened quietly until Vicki wondered what was inside her envelope. This was one of those stiff almost-cardboard containers that don’t bend easily.  She slowly lifted up the flap –screeeech.  Then she pulled out the certificate – scriiittch.  Then she read it and put it back in the envelope – scriitchh, and closed it up – screeeeech.

Then it was my turn, since Vicki hadn’t shown me her certificate.  So, screeeech, scriiittch, read it over, scriiittch, screeeech.  Evidently those things were noisier than we thought because our moms told us in no uncertain terms what a commotion we had made and how embarrassing it was to them, and we were never to do that again, etc.

 

I guess one good thing is that I do have a memory of my baptism day.  Most of the babies this morning won’t remember much, but they all have pictures galore to remember it by.  Mobile phones had not been invented back in the day and flash cameras were probably too noisy.